


The Winchester Legacy

by anyjay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyjay/pseuds/anyjay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haven't you even wondered why John said that?  This is my reason why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winchester Legacy

John swore and threw the letter from Stanford on the table. Sam met his father’s eyes without a blink, standing straight and tall, his packed duffle bag sitting at his feet. John wondered how it was possible to feel proud and betrayed at the same time.

“This letter is dated months ago,” John said.

“Yes, sir,” Sam answered. The words were polite, but the tone was pure defiance.

“You’ve been planning this for months,” John accused.

“Yes, sir,” Sam said again.

John shifted his attention to Dean. “Did you know about this?”

The guilt that flashed across Dean’s face was enough for John. Dean had known.

“No, sir,” Sam said. “I never said a word to Dean about Stanford.”

John believed that. Sam hadn’t told Dean. But Sam could never keep a secret from Dean for very long. Dean had known that Sam was planning to leave hunting, to leave his family, to go to off to some fancy college. He’d known and he’d never said a word to John.

John banged his fist on the table and let loose, blasting Sam for his selfishness, for not understanding his duty to hunting and to his family. He’d said these words to Sammy so often John could give this speech in his sleep. Given how sleep deprived they sometimes got on hunts, it was likely John had given it in his sleep a few times, and that Sam had slept through it even more often than that.

While he yelled and stomped and swore, Sam stood and took it. He answered "Yes, Sir" and “No, sir," when John asked a direct question and he didn’t back down.

Apparently Sam wanted college, and he wanted it more than he wanted to stay with his brother. He might even want it more than he wanted to piss off John, but that was hard to say.

John wondered just how long it would take before Sam got killed, once he was alone.

The image of Sam, dead and laid out on a funeral pyre, brought to mind a hunter’s funeral John had attended years ago. The hunter hadn’t been that much older than Dean was now. As they’d watched the body burn, Bill Harvelle – still alive in those days – had leaned over and muttered to John, “Poor Lou, his heart never really was in the hunt. Guess that’s why he got careless.”

“You don’t care at all, do you, Sam?” John shouted. “You don’t give a good god damn about hunting?”

“No, sir, I don’t,” Sam said. His teeth were clenched and his hands in fists.

John scrubbed his hand across his face and tried to figure out what to do, what was best for Sam and for the Winchesters.

“You haven’t thought this through,” John said. “This scholarship won’t cover everything. You’ll still have to pay for books, laundry, detergent, soap, shampoo. Where’s the money going to come from for that? You’ll get caught if you use the credit cards and stay in one place.”

“I’ve saved up some money, and I can get a job,” Sam said.

Sam started to explain to John why he wanted to go to college, what he thought he could accomplish, how he could still help people.

But John wasn’t really listening; he was thinking too hard.

College was tough, especially the good ones. John had heard of Stanford so it was probably a good school, a hard school. Sam was used to being the best, the smartest in all his classes. At Stanford, Sam might not be the best any more. The work would be harder. On top of that, Sam would be different from the other kids, too, poorer, with a strange upbringing. He’d have to work to make money while the other students were having fun. Kids could be real assholes about stuff like that, and Sam wouldn’t have Dean to shield him anymore.

Maybe John should just let Sam go, wait for him to wash out and come home.

John remembered the times in the marines when he’d been overwhelmed or unhappy or just plain exhausted and he’d wanted nothing more than to just leave. He’d had been a star athlete at his small high school. Everyone knew John Winchester had what it takes to win. But not at boot camp. At boot camp, John was no longer the fastest and the best. He’d been good enough at some things, but stank at others. His marksmanship used to suck beyond the telling of it. His pride had been hurt and he’d wanted nothing more than to leave, to go home to his mother, to hide.

John could give Sam a few weeks at Stanford, and then swing by and convince the kid to come back. By then, Sam would be missing Dean something fierce. Sam would see that he didn’t fit in with the other students, that the classes were tougher than in high school, that college wasn’t everything he’d thought.

John could picture it as clear as day. In a couple weeks, with a little emotional manipulation and some help from Dean, he could have Sam back. A Sam embarrassed by his lack of success at school, and willing to throw his lot in with his family again.

But would Sam’s heart be in it when he got back? If he felt like a failure after leaving Stanford, would he be even more likely to get careless? Would he be even more likely to end up like Lou?

John stared at his Sam, so young, so bright, so full of anger, vehemently defending his life choice. John remembered the pride he’d felt every time he’d made a deposit to the boys’ college funds, every time he promised Mary his boys were going to have opportunities he’d never had. John remembered that the hunting was supposed to be temporary – just for a few months, a few years. Just until he could kill the thing that took his Mary. John had always told himself that once that was done, he’d make it up to the boys. They’d settle down in a real house, and he’d buy them the puppy/bicycle/electric guitar they’d always wanted.

It was too late for that. The boys weren’t children any longer. But there was one thing John could still give Sam. John could make sure Sam achieved his goal, that Sam never gave up even against the worst odds, that Sam had the steel in his spine to take Stanford by storm.

John remembered what his own father had said when John left home to join the marines. The words he’d heard in his head whenever he’d wanted to quit. The words that kept him practicing until he was the best marksman around. The words that made him determined to succeed no matter what.

John looked Sam in the eye and repeated his father’s words. "If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back.”


End file.
